
It's funny how we latch onto objects as if they are part of our heritage and we remain loyal to them throughout life.
My father preferred Chevrolets to all other cars. His first new car was a 1936 4-door gunmetal standard sedan, as plain as your grandma's undies.
My first new car, purchased while I was still in the Air Force, was a 1956 dark blue sedan delivery and I have never owned anything but Chevvies since.
I make this point because I am likewise addicted to specific aircraft.
The 18th Fighter-Bomber Wing flew F-51s while I was attached to it, so, for me, the greatest military fighter ever built was the Mustang. I suppose I might have a thing for the F-80s had I still been with the outfit when it transitioned to jets in 1953.
All of this is preamble to my almost sinful romance with the Douglas C-47 Dakota, a tail-dragger like the Mustangs, in which all of us made many a flight over the mountains of Korea and the Sea of Japan.
We called her the "Gooney Bird" for no apparent reason. Already 17 years old when she was bringing us the bacon and the mail, she was sleek and proud and reliable--some of her siblings are still in service today, more than 70 years after the first ones came off the assembly line.
Probably just as many Curtis C-46 Commandos were in the FEAF fleet in those days and I had plenty of rides in them, too. But I remember them as fat and ugly compared to the 47s, an unreasonable and ungrateful prejudice for which I have no excuse--or apology.
My father took his last ride to his grave in Arlington in a Chevrolet hearse.
It's probably too much to ask that my last ride to the little graveyard down the road be in a Gooney Bird.
Next Page
© Copyright 2008 Buck Matthews. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes without permission in writing from the author. Used with permission by BelleAire Press as a tribute to those American servicemen and women who served during the Korean War.